


In For A Penny

by AcornsOnTheGround



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Batbrothers (DCU), Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, But he loves all his kids, But he'll also always be Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Overdue conversations, the meaning of robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcornsOnTheGround/pseuds/AcornsOnTheGround
Summary: “And then the goddamned Replacement—"Dick grunts.  Jason calling Tim, ‘Replacement’ never ceases to be annoying and he is too tired for this shit.  He yanks the pillow from his head and throws a glare Jason’s way.  “Oh, will you knock it off with that already?”Jason stops and looks at him.  “Knock what off?” he asks, and his words are still clipped with anger.“All that ‘Replacement’ bullshit and being perpetually pissed off at Tim.”“It’s not bullshit,” Jason grits out.Dick groans again and throws his pillow across the room in frustration.  He stares at the ceiling.“What?” Jason asks sharply.Dick doesn’t say anything.  He should never have opened his mouth.  He closes his eyes and tries to gather his calm.“Come on, Goldie.  You got something to say, then say it,” Jason snarls.Dick grinds his teeth.  He hates that name and the way Jason uses it as a weapon against him.  Hates the inherent implication that Bruce somehow likes Dick better than the rest of them.  It’s ridiculous; Bruce loves all his kids.But Dick’s patience has been teetering on the edge and now it’s the ‘Goldie’ that tips him over into the dark maw of anger.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 63
Kudos: 410





	In For A Penny

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there. I've read a few of fic like this, and I suspect there are millions of them, since it's a canon issue that that cries out for a fix-it. So, here's my version. I'm obviously mashing up various comics here, but I'm drawing on Batman #408 & Batman #409 as the source for Dick's exit as Robin. 
> 
> Not beta'd, so apologies for typos, etc. I tend to obsessively edit and re-edit, so I'll probably catch them eventually, but feel free to point them out.

Fuck, Dick is tired. And sore. He’d pulled a double shift at BPD because Johnson was out with a sick kid. But the criminals were busy in Gotham lately, and Bruce had asked Nightwing to help him and Robin with some surveillance they were running down by the docks because Red Robin and Red Hood were working a drug case on the other side of town. Dick couldn’t say no. Wouldn’t. Unfortunately, the surveillance had unexpectedly turned into a melee, with the three of them sizeably outnumbered. Dick had ended up bearing the brunt of that, having the bad luck that most of the thugs had poured through the door that Dick was positioned near. The vigilantes prevailed, of course, but the fight had been fierce, and at one point, Dick found himself fending off eight attackers. He’d ended up with some sizeable bruises and contusions under his Nightwing uniform, to his ribs mostly, but he'd taken a good shot to his left kidney as well. 

Afterward, he’d waved off Bruce’s scrutiny and questions about his condition, and left, desperately needing some rest. He’d staggered home and immediately crawled into bed to try to get a few hours’ sleep before he had to be back at his day job. He couldn't have been asleep very long when Jason had climbed in his window, wound up and ranting about something that Tim had done to piss him off. 

To Dick’s surprise, since Bruce had returned from the timestream, things had been settling down between the Robins—past and present—almost like, when Bruce had been gone, everyone finally realized that they loved the guy, and now they were trying hard to get along and not make waves. It had been nice to have some peace for once, to not get pulled into whatever argument any two Robins might be having at the moment. They’d gone weeks without any major blow-ups and there’d been little of the usual bickering or bitching. 

But apparently, all good things must come to an end, because Jason is now in his apartment—in his _bedroom_ —pacing the floor and ranting about Tim. With the détente after Bruce’s return, Jason had seemed to make efforts with all of them, but Tim…that wound just never seems to heal completely. 

The irony that Jay insists on laying his issues with Tim at Dick’s feet, will never go away. 

Dick desperately needs a few hours sleep so he tries to block out Jason's monologue by grabbing his pillow and covering his head. Jason either doesn't notice or doesn't care. He’s been slipping into sleep and then repeatedly woken up by Jason's spiral into frayed anger when he looks at the clock to see that he’s got less than two hours before he has to be back at BPD. He glances at Jason who’s still pacing back and forth and seems nowhere close to wrapping up. Dick sighs. It's a lost cause—he’s never going to get to sleep—so he halfheartedly shifts his attention to what Jason is saying. 

“And then the goddamned _Replacement—_ "

Dick grunts. Jason calling Tim, ‘ _Replacement_ ’ never ceases to be annoying and he is too tired for this shit. He yanks the pillow from his head and throws a glare Jason’s way. “Oh, will you _knock it off_ with that already?” 

Jason stops and looks at him. “Knock what off?” he asks, and his words are still clipped with anger.

“All that ‘Replacement’ bullshit and being perpetually pissed off at _Tim_.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Jason grits out.

Dick groans and throws his pillow across the room in frustration. He stares at the ceiling.

“What?” Jason asks sharply.

Dick doesn’t say anything. He should never have opened his mouth. He closes his eyes and tries to gather his calm.

“Come on, _Goldie_. You got something to say, then say it,” Jason snarls.

Dick grinds his teeth. He hates that name and the way Jason uses it as a weapon against him. Hates the inherent implication that Bruce somehow likes Dick better than the rest of them. It’s ridiculous; Bruce loves all his kids. 

It’s just that Dick’s so fucking exhausted, and he hurts in too many places, and now Jason is here keeping him awake, and has the gall to lob ‘Goldie’ at him in his own apartment. Dick has let it roll of his back the last, oh, hundred-thousand times or so that Jason has used it to snipe at him, but he's tired and sore and his defenses are down and he doesn’t have enough energy to hold back. His patience always teeters on the edge when he feels this way, and now it’s the ‘Goldie’ that tips him over into the dark maw of anger. It’s what has Dick rolling his head and glaring at Jason. 

“I was 16 when I left the Manor,” Dick snaps, and Jason at least stops the damn pacing and stares at him. He's pretty sure it’s mostly at his surprise at Dick’s clearly annoyed tone, which he rarely unleashes, but he’s on a roll now. “The Joker had shot me, and Bruce and I fought about it. He said he’d been wrong all that time, that he shouldn’t have brought a _child_ into his world because it wasn’t safe. He _fired_ me and took Robin away from me. So I left, struck out on my own and became Nightwing.”

Dick seems to have gotten Jason’s attention because his jaw has snapped shut and he doesn’t interrupt. 

Dick continues. “Three months later, I hear through the rumor mill that Batman has a new sidekick. _My ‘_ replacement’, _younger_ than me and wearing _my_ Robin costume. If anyone has a right to be pissed it’s me, so shut it already.” He closes his eyes, waits for Jason’s snide comeback.

It never comes. 

Dick opens his eyes to see an apparently dumbstruck Jason staring at him. It honestly only annoys Dick more. “What? It never occurred to you?” He’s not quite able to keep the years of pent-up hurt and betrayal from his voice.

“I…”

Dick’s had enough of this conversation, so he gets out of bed and pads over to the bathroom. “I have to be at work in a little while. I’ll see you later.” He closes the bathroom door and just stands there for a moment, waves of regret already pouring over him. He’d thought he’d let go of this a long time ago, but apparently not. 

He starts the shower and steps in when it’s warm, leans his forehead against the tiled wall and thinks about those days, so many years ago: the first time he’d heard about Jason, the gut-punch he’d felt the first time he’d _seen_ Jason in his Robin uniform, how oblivious Bruce seemed to be. He’d kept his distance for a long time, too hurt by Bruce’s thoughtlessness and afraid he’d lash out at Jason if he spent too much time with him. He still feels guilty about that, about not being there for him, still wonders if he _had_ been there, if things might have turned out differently for Jason. 

He lingers in the shower, hoping the hot water will drive away the tension he’s feeling. It doesn’t work much. It’s not all Jason; it’s the exhaustion and the injuries, too, and there’s only so much of that the hot spray can rinse away. When the water starts to run cool, Dick sighs deeply and turns off the shower. He shaves at the sink, then roots through his closet to find a clean uniform. He slips on the pants and the shirt but doesn’t bother buttoning it as he heads to the kitchen barefoot. 

He expects Jason to be long gone so his step falters for a split second when he sees the man standing in his kitchen drinking a cup of coffee. Dick quickly starts buttoning his shirt, but not before Jason’s sharp eyes scan, and no doubt catalogue, every visible bruise on his torso. As Dick approaches, Jason pours another cup of coffee, drops a splash of cream into it and sets it on the counter for him. 

“Thanks,” Dick mumbles, moving around Jason to get to the freezer. He takes out a box of breakfast burritos. “You want one?” he asks. 

Jason shakes his head. “No, thanks."

Dick pops one in the microwave and stands there, watching it while it heats. Jason doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just stand there with his coffee, leaning against the stove. The microwave beeps, and Dick removes his breakfast, slipping the piping hot food onto a plate, then dropping onto a stool at the counter. He knows from experience that it needs to cool a bit before he can bite into it without burning the shit out of his mouth, so he picks up his coffee instead and takes a sip. When he looks up, Jason is staring at him intently. Ah, shit. His anger very suddenly dissipates and he regrets ever opening this can of worms. 

Jason doesn’t say anything for a long time, when he does, it’s, “I didn’t know.”

Dick just raises his eyebrows. 

Jason looks slightly uneasy but keeps his chin up. He clears his throat. “I didn’t know that he fired you. That he took Robin from you. I thought…I thought you didn’t want it anymore. That you outgrew it or something.”

Dick shifts his gaze and looks out the window into the early Bludhaven morning. The sun is just starting to come up; streaks of pink lighting up the sky. He remembers the morning after he left the Manor all those years ago. He didn’t sleep that entire night, instead crawled up onto a roof and just sat there, staring at the sky, watching the sunrise. He’d lost everything: his home, his identity, his legacy. It was devastating. He’d had no idea what he would do. 

“Dick?”

Dick shakes himself out of his memories and runs a hand down his face. He looks at Jason who’s quiet, wearing a contrite but still slightly confused expression. Guilt hits him immediately. He should’ve contained his anger better, shouldn’t have let Jason rile him up, he should have been in better control. It’s what Bruce has been impressing upon him since he was nine years old, but he still hasn’t managed to master his emotions. 

“Dick?” Jason says again, sounding mildly concerned. 

Dick considers for a few seconds, trying to decide if he should give Jason the rest of the story or leave well enough alone. But now that he’s opened this door, he supposes that Jason deserves the rest of the story. What the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? 

He sets his coffee down and goes to his bedroom closet where he pulls a box off the high shelf. He digs through it until he finds the scrapbook he’s looking for: it’s old, and fragile, and some of the pages are ripped, and Dick handles it with infinite care. He pages carefully through it as he walks back to the kitchen, where he sets the open book on the counter in front of Jason, who's confused expression has tracked him across the room. 

Jason flicks a glance at Dick before looking down with curiosity. When he sees the page, a strangled sound claws out of him.

There’s a playbill attached to the page with yellowing tape. On it is a picture of Dick and his parents flying through air, each of them wearing orange and green and yellow in some combination, all three of them smiling broadly. In the margin of the page, next to the flier, Dick’s mom had written, “Our little Robin.” Jason gapes at him.

“My mom used to call me Robin because I was born on the first day of spring and she said it was when the robins would return. Alf helped me design a Robin costume similar to these.” He points to the happy family in the picture. “Robin wasn’t a just a costume, it’s who I _was_. Who I am, still. I’ll always be Robin.” 

Jason stares at the photo for a long minute before he finally looks up and says, “Jesus, Dick. Why didn’t you ever say?”

Dick shrugs. “What’s would’ve been the point? It was done, and it wasn’t you that did it. I don’t blame you, I never did; it was Bruce’s decision, not yours. And the only reason I’m telling you now is because it would be nice if you’d let that go with Tim.”

“Christ, how can you stand to be anywhere near Bruce? He’s such an asshole, to take that from you for that reason and then turn around and give it to me.”

“No,” Dick says, shaking his head a little. “I believe he believed what he was saying when he said it was too dangerous. But I also think that, deep down, he knew I needed to leave and strike out on my own, to follow my own path. I needed to figure out who I was, and I couldn’t do that as Robin, where I’d always be in his shadow. But when he met you, I think he saw a kid who was lost and alone and already in danger. He wanted to protect you and the best way he knew how to do that was to give you skills.”

“But, still. He could have shoved me into any costume. Why would he put me in your family’s colors?”

It’s a question Dick had turned over in his mind a million times, especially during Jason’s years as Robin, and one he’d long ago admitted to himself probably had a simple answer. “I assume he wanted continuity. It was safer for you if nobody noticed the transition. Bruce’s decisions are always strategic, you know that. If I’m honest, I probably believe it never occurred to him. He’s too focused on the end goal to sweat a detail like that. I know he cares about me and didn’t do it to intentionally hurt me. It’s just Bruce.” 

“Like I said, an asshole.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but Bruce doesn’t have the highest emotional intelligence score,” Dick says wryly. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about every one of us. He didn’t take any of us in because he needed _us_ to fight crime. He took us in because _we_ needed him. All of us in our own way. His heart is in the right place, Jay, you know it is. Even if his ability to communicate that totally suck balls.”

Jason drops heavily onto a stool and bends over, staring at the yellowed page again. Dick picks up his burrito and bites into it. It’s still a little hot and he huffs around it for a few seconds to cool it off before he can chew and swallow. He’s about halfway through it when Jason sits up again.

He looks Dick in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “I told you, I don’t blame you. The one you should be apologizing to is Tim.”

Jason wraps both hands around his mug of coffee. “Oh, god, please don’t make me do that.”

Dick laughs. “If we’ve established one thing in this family, it’s that no one can make you do anything you don’t want to do.” He shrugs. “I’m just saying, if you see any injustice in my situation, then maybe you can ease up on Tim a little. And if not, and now that we've had this conversation, I’m probably going to be pointing out what a hypocrite you are every chance I get.” He takes a drink from his coffee cup to hide his twitching grin. 

Jason blows out a breath. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Dick shrugs again. “I was hoping you’d just get over it on your own.”

“But why didn’t you say anything about…” he gestures at the picture in the scrapbook. “Why didn’t you ever say something to Bruce?”

Dick takes a deep breath and blows it out. “I don’t know. I might have if I’d been there before he ever put you in it. But by the time I found out, it was already done. If I had stormed in and demanded Bruce stop letting you using it, it only would have hurt you. You were so…unsure of your place in Bruce’s life, in your new home at the Manor, as Robin. I didn’t want you to feel bad.” 

“Always the Golden Boy,” Jason mutters.

Dick bites back a sharp retort and calms himself for a few seconds before he shakes his head and says, “You always see what you want to see.” He’s content to leave it at that for now—maybe it’ll be a conversation for another day. He tucks back into his burrito, but he can feel Jason’s eyes on him. 

“You know, you also only see what you want to see. Bruce respects the hell out of you,” Jason eventually tells him.

Dick swallows. “He respects all of us. Don’t shortchange Bruce by thinking he plays favorites. As emotionally stunted as he is, he’s actually good at reading people. He just doesn’t always know how to act on the information, especially with his kids. I think he gave each of us what we needed when we came into his life. If he ever treated us differently—and I’d argue he didn’t really—it’s because we needed different things.”

Jason makes a frustrated noise. “Bruce is—”

“A flawed human being,” Dick cuts him off. “We all are, Jason. I get that you’re hurting. I can’t even begin to understand what you’ve been through—are still going through. But how about, instead of taking it out on the people who care about you, you get some therapy and deal with your shit.”

“Oh, like you?” Jason retorts.

“Yeah, like me.” Jason’s head snaps up and he blinks in surprise. “I’ve been seeing Dinah for years. Since you died, actually. I think she could help you, too, if you give her a chance.” 

“Yeah? You talk about your massive daddy issues with her?” Jason says, but it lacks his usual acerbic sting. 

Dick can see he’s struggling with everything, so he doesn’t rise to the bait. “We may still fight sometimes, but I made my peace with Bruce years ago. And I laid a lot of ghosts to rest while he was gone. It’d be nice if you could do the same, is all I’m saying,” Dick says, keeping his voice even. He gets up and carries his plate to the dishwasher. Jason doesn’t say anything as Dick drains his coffee cup and then puts it in the dishwasher as well. “I gotta finish getting ready and get to work. Thanks for the coffee.”

Jason still doesn’t say anything, and Dick can see that he’s in his head, the way he still gets sometimes, dissecting things, picking them apart, analyzing. Jason's smart and he's got a head for logic, so Dick leaves him to it. He goes back to his bedroom and takes his time getting ready, giving his brother some space to work through everything Dick's told him in the last several minutes. When he walks out into the other room, he’s in full uniform and Jason is gone. He’s not surprised. The fact that Jason hung around for the entire conversation they had was frankly startling. 

* * *

** Epilogue: **

He somehow manages to power through his work day, aided by several tall cups of coffee from the break room, the cafeteria, the coffee shop on the next block. He manages to stay on his feet for the whole day and is just climbing on his bike at the end of his shift when his phone pings twice in a row. He takes it out and looks at the texts. 

_< what did you do to Jason?> _the text from Tim reads.

The one from Damian says, _< you broke todd>_

_< what?>_ Dick taps out in reply.

Tim: _< He’s being NICE>_

Dami: _ <it’s bewildering>_

 _ <and alarming> _

Dick grins. _< what makes you think I had anything to do with it?>_

Dami: _< He had that moue of ‘grayson’ about him when he showed up at the cave>_

Dick laughs. _< what the hell does that even mean?>_

Tim: _< eye rolling emoji> <when we asked, he implied you had something to do with it> _

_< shrug emoji> <I have no idea>_

Dami: _< we don’t believe you>_

_ <this isn’t over>_

It’s not a conversation to have over text and Dick’s going to have to think about what he’ll say to Tim and Damian, if anything. By the time Tim came along, the damage was already done and he hadn't given it a second thought the first time Tim appeared wearing the green and orange and yellow. And Dick himself had given the Robin mantle to Damian, so he can’t hold anything against him (not that he ever did).

He’s about to tuck his phone away when it pings again with a text from Bruce.

_< Dick, why didn’t you tell me you’d been injured last night? I want you off patrol until you’re healed up. You can monitor from the batcave and do research if you want to help. At least two weeks, from what Jason says>_

The smile disappears from Dick’s face and he curses under his breath. Damn it, Jason. He shoots off a rapid-fire response.

_< I’m fine>_

Bruce: _< Two weeks>_

Dick pushes out a frustrated breath. He knows Bruce well enough to know that there will be no negotiating on this point. Next time he sees Jason, Dick’s going to kill him.

He tucks his phone away and starts his motorcycle, plotting all the ways he’s going to get revenge on Jason for ratting him out as he rides home. He’s feels his phone vibrate as he drives, and when he parks at his apartment, he pulls it out again, expecting to see another text from Bruce or Tim or Damian. But when he looks down at the screen, he sucks in a sharp breath at the message.

_< you happen to have Dinah’s number handy?>_

Dick quickly opens his contacts and shares Dinah’s phone number with Jason, sending it off before Jason can change his mind. A reply comes almost immediately.

_< thx>_

Dick gets off his bike and tucks the phone away. It’s impossible to keep a grin off his face. He hustles up to his apartment and changes into street clothes, and in ten minutes he’s back on his bike headed to the Manor. He’d rather go out on patrol with the rest of them, but if all he can do is watch his brothers’ backs—and Bruce’s—while he enjoys some of Alfred’s cooking, well, there are worse things in the world. 

**Author's Note:**

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